


Not the Man You Remember

by thatawkwardgeekygirl



Category: Avengers, Thor - Fandom
Genre: Gen, after the Avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 02:16:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatawkwardgeekygirl/pseuds/thatawkwardgeekygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of Manhattan, Thor brings his brother back to Asgard. Sif is eager to greet Loki, whom she thought lost after the events in Thor, but she is in for a crushing surprise. Oneshot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the Man You Remember

_“You’re bad, Loki!” Sif cried, jabbing her finger towards the lanky boy lounging in the lowermost branches of a tree. He cocked one dark brow at her, indifference plain on his features._

_“What would prompt you to say such things, my lady?” He asked, idly twirling a knife between his fingers. She fumed. He was always teasing her, moreso than the others, calling her names and picking at her for tagging along with him and his brother and their group of friends. She was a warrior-in-training, not a child!_

Sif’s boot steps rang loudly in the empty Hall of Odin. She bypassed the great tables carefully set with clean linen and silver, barely glanced at the huge golden throne from which the Allfather held court, and ran through the doors on the far side of the room without slowing. Her muscles sang with the exertion, but she didn’t care. At this moment, she cared only for one thing.

He was home.

Lady Frigga hurried towards the East Wing as well, although with much more grace and elegance than Sif could ever muster. The warrior maiden skidded to a halt next to the Queen, and quickly bowed before she danced apprehensively ahead of the older woman. Her words were breathy and quick as she asked, “Is it true, my Queen? Have they returned?”

_“You cut off my hair! You did! I see it on your wrist!” All her beautiful flaxen hair, sliced alarmingly close to her skull, now wound about his wrist in a thick braid. “Give it back, or I’ll thrash you!” She would, too. Shorter than he though she was, Sif was a compact ball of muscle eager to prove herself to anyone who so much as glanced at her sideways. She owed it to her father –may he forever drink in the halls of Valhalla—to become as grand a warrior as he had been._

The golden-haired wife of Odin nodded, barely slowing, and although Sif was eager to be off and see the returning Princes she couldn’t make herself abandon all propriety. She fell into step behind Lady Frigga, and once again wondered why women chose to wear skirts when they so restricted the length of one’s stride.

It seemed Frigga was of the same mind, because Sif would have sworn she heard the elder mutter “Blast it all!” before she simply hiked up her dress and ran. For a woman with more than a few millennia to her name, she was just as swift as a girl. Sif was glad for the change of pace and ran alongside her Queen.

_She didn’t know her mother indulged her desire for combat training only at the gentle insistence of Frigga, whom she served as Lady-in-Waiting. This thirst for blood was something the monarch was convinced would fade with age, and, even if it didn’t, the young noblewoman’s reckless desire for adventure kept her sons on edge._

_The second born Prince of Asgard scoffed at her threat, then leapt from the branches to land lightly on his feet before her. He was but a handful of years older than she, all legs and arms and bony leanness. The breadth of his shoulders promised height and strength, one day, but now he was as gangly as a colt. “I have given you a boon, my Lady Warrior Sif.” He said softly, and though his words were sharp and quiet she stilled._

It didn’t take them much longer to reach their destination. The doors of the room were arched and golden and delicately engraved with scenes of past hunts and great deeds. Sif shoved them open with absolutely no regard for the metal, and although many had thusly entered this room over the ages, it was the first time the guards would find dents in the artwork.

Her cry of “Loki!” was a mere moment behind Lady Frigga’s, but stiff silence was all that greeted them.

Thor was stone-faced and still in the corner, his eyes icy blue and filled with caution as he watched his brother. Odin turned to face the women, although it was clear from the set of his features that all was not well. _Loki,_ Sif thought, attention zeroing in on the form of the Prince. He was beaten, bruised, with cuts on his face and black marring the pale skin of his cheek and forehead. He was in the simple black pants and long-sleeved shirt worn under armor and regalia. His hands were tied. A mask covered his mouth and chin.

_She had learned fairly quickly, although there were many others who didn’t see, that it was always best to watch Loki more than listen to him, for already he practiced the skills that would one day earn him the title of Silvertongue._

_Now he was cocky, with a hand upon his hip while the limb sporting her braided plaits was held before him. His training leathers were clean, which meant he had yet to take a turn on the practice sands with the sword masters. His constant poking of her temper made Sif watch him, and she knew he would much rather be holed up in the library with some dreary ancient tome than tossed about on the training grounds. Thor laughed at his brother for his preference of thrown daggers and magic._

Lady Frigga gasped, and Sif knew the Queen had covered her mouth with her hands. Her own fingers bit into her palms.

“What is the meaning of this?” Odin’s wife demanded. Sif’s gaze darted from Thor to the Allfather and back.

The King drew himself up, all flowing white hair and broad chest and sure and certain sense of strength. Sif’s feelings of dread grew. “Loki,” the King intoned, for everything he said was intoned rather than spoken, “has waged war upon the Midgarians, and as a result of his actions millions of lives were lost. He has disgraced Asgard, damaged the human’s fledgling trust of us, and made heretofore-unknown alien races aware of our existence. He is a traitor, and the Midgardians have handed him over to us for judgement.”

 

_“I see not how cutting my hair did me any favors, Loki!” She snarled. He looked at her as if she was dense, but then again that was how he looked at mostly everyone._

_“You fight to be a warrior. You train with the best battle masters Asgard has to offer in the halls of the Allfather himself.” He looked thoughtfully at the braid twining about his hand. “You have an uphill road ahead you, my lady; it is never easy doing something that the world deems you ill suited for, regardless of your own talents.”_

_“Enough of your drabble; say what it is you mean.”_

Sif stared, each word dropping like a stone against her soul. “No.” She denied it quickly, but the fear was welling high in her throat. “No, you’re wrong. Loki has ever been one for mischief, and his jealousy was well-known to those of us close to him, but to deliberately destroy a world we had only just rediscovered, for purposes we do not know, is not in his nature.” Her voice was strong, but she knew the Allfather could hear the thread of uncertainty in her words. Loki’s eyes, so clear and green, were fathomless when she sought his gaze. She could read nothing of his thoughts, and the realization was chilling.

“He is your son.” She whispered, as close to pleading as she had ever been. How could he believe such lies against him?

_“No one of consequence would ever take a woman warrior seriously, let alone one with such glorious hair. The ladies of the court envy your locks; the men wish to brush their fingers through them.” Loki’s mouth set in a hard line. “You will never reach the goals you set for yourself by allowing such vanity. As I said, I have done you a great favor by ridding you of this obstacle.”_

Odin seemed to turn to stone at her words, then spun on his heel and towered threateningly over the dark-haired prince. “I had wished for your return to remain a secret, until I had decided what punishment suited your crimes. It seems Heimdall is unable to keep my council as he once did. Perhaps you can explain to the Queen in your own words why you chose to betray Asgard.” With that, he left.

Thor moved away from the wall he leaned against, and grabbed Sif’s arm to maneuver her out of the room. Lady Frigga was silent and unmoving, and the last thing Sif saw was Loki refusing to meet his mother’s gaze before Thor tugged the door shut.

_She was leery of his explanation. Few were the deeds the second son of Asgard did out of the pure kindness of his heart. “Why?” She demanded, although the heat had left her voice._

_He wavered, eyes darting away for a moment before he faced her again. He drew himself up to his full height, taller than she though less than he would one day become, and fiddled with the gold collar about his neck. “You are fierce. And strong. You deserve the chance to fight if you wish, and I have seen you grind those who mock you into the dust of the practice fields. They should take one of us seriously.”_

She rounded on him immediately. “It can’t be true.” She said heatedly. “It’s not. I refuse to believe it. The mortals are lying if they insist that Loki would ever do anyth-“

“I saw him fight with our enemies with my own eyes, Sif. I saw him murder a man I respected in front of me.” His words were soft, gentle, and so unlike the boisterous and rowdy man of less than a year previously. He released her arm. “He sought to annihilate all of Jotunheim in a failed quest to earn Father’s approval, and nearly subjugated the world I have claimed as mine to protect.”

_His words drew the rest of her spite from her. “You could have asked.” She said._

_He grinned a grin free of mockery or sarcasm. He was almost handsome, when he smiled like that. “You wouldn’t have listened. Something has to be your idea for you to do it.” The grin faded. “If you like, I can find a spell to make it grow back.”_

_She shook her head. “No, you are right. I don’t like how you did it, but you’re right. The others will take me more seriously without it. But…” she trailed off. “I would like to grow it back, one day. Do you think I could?”_

_There was that smile, again. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, my lady.”_

Grief welled up inside her, and for the first time in centuries Sif felt hot tears crowd at the corners of her eyes.

Thor appeared no better. “He is not the boy of our youth." Now he looked as if he had lost his brother all over again, and a tiny corner of Sif's brain wondered if he had. "He is not the man you remember.”


End file.
